


if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked

by orphan_account



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Lost Small World Spoilers, M/M, Short One Shot, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Hey Misaki,</i> he says.</p>
<p><i>Stop calling me that,</i> Yata retorts. <i>What is it?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from fall out boy's song "27"

I.

_Hey Misaki,_ he says.

_Stop calling me that,_ Yata retorts. _What is it?_

_Misaki._ It’s a bad habit, Fushimi thinks, as he ignores the other’s demand. To use his first name so intimately when others aren’t allowed to at all, he feels a thrill unlike ever before. His temper is almost endearing; Fushimi’s fascination with this boy is reminiscent of the complex mazes and connections of the ant farm’s beautiful world from so long ago. He hasn’t felt such entertained feelings since then, and an idle thought of that guy’s twisted expression hardens Fushimi’s. It serves as a constant reminder to never let Yata anywhere near his house.

(It’s a house, but not a home. It never has been.)

_Fuck you,_ Yata spits, ears turning red. Intriguing.

_Maybe when we’re older,_ says Fushimi, and this time, Yata splutters.

  


II.

_Hey Misaki,_ he says.

_Stop calling me that,_ Yata retorts. _What is it?_

_Do you think we’ll be together forever?_ The space is small, but it’s enough for the two of them. There was an apparent homicide here -- but it’s not like Fushimi would let the scaredy-cat Yata know that. There’s no heat, but they had blankets to share, and their body warmth remains sufficient. They’re comfortable, and that’s all that matters for now. And for the first time, it feels like home.  
  
 _That’s a stupid question, idiot Saru!_ Yata predictably exclaims, elbowing Fushimi in the ribs. _Of course we will be. We’re best friends._ He can hear Yata’s smirk, his voice gleeful at this unusual glimpse of perceived emotional weakness. _Starting to get a little sentimental on me, aren’t you?_

_Tch._ Fushimi rolls away, turning towards the trash-lined wall. _That’s you._

_  
_

III.

_Hey Misaki,_ he says.

_Stop calling me that,_ Yata retorts. _What is it?_

_Come with me,_ and he’s already out of HOMRA’s door. He turns into the alley, right around the corner of the bar. Footsteps padding across the grimy streets are audible behind him. Fushimi grins in almost a perverse pleasure to the empty air before him, the anticipation for what he’s about to tell Yata humming through his veins, coursing just beneath his skin, soaking his entire being in an adrenaline fueled rush.

_What do you want?_ Yata demands, feigning irritation. He’s not actually annoyed, Fushimi observes, bitterly -- but that will change soon.

_I’ve joined SCEPTER4,_ says Fushimi, almost giddy. The playful expression on Yata’s face twists, contorts; first to shock, then disbelief, then hurt, then anger, then betrayal. It settles all on betrayal, Fushimi thinks, satiated. It serves him right, especially when his praise of _amazing_ no longer held any of its former admiration or enthusiasm to its ring.

_You what?!_ Yata shouts, instinctively reaching out to yank Fushimi’s collar -- as if he’s a dog, and he’s going to stay if Yata tells him he’s misbehaved. The irony is not lost on Fushimi, and his sneer widens. _How could you? What about Mikoto-san? What about our pride?_

Fushimi’s pleasure quickly sours. Think about me, Misaki, and me only, he angrily wants to scream, but he doesn’t. The words he wants to say are hid away, muffled without another moment’s hesitance, and he can’t speak the truth. The beloved friend he formerly trusted so much was now gone, a fading memory in the distance.

Instead, he ignites his fist with the cursed red aura he has grown to detest, and brings it to his chest, scarring the HOMRA mark that Yata cherishes so much. The sickening smell of burning flesh permeates the air, adulterating the cool mist of an autumn evening. Fushimi breathes in deeply, drunk off the putrid scent, pain literally burning at his skin; hungry, insistent, possessive. It is the same and vastly different than the hurt he suffered when accepting Suoh’s power, and Fushimi shoves the thought away to the deepest corner he can find. This time, Fushimi ignores such blatant irony in favor of Yata’s horrified expression. _There goes your pride, Misaki._

The syllables roll off of Fushimi’s tongue deliciously, clearly enunciated with sadistic purpose. Yata’s eyes are so wide, Fushimi observes. Good. He wants Yata to look at him, only him, to drink in all of this, to sear it into his memory as he’s seared HOMRA’s tattoo into his own flesh.

_If I can’t make you love me, then I’ll make you hate me._

  


IV.

_Hey Misaki,_ he says.

_Stop calling me that,_ Yata retorts. _What is it?_

_Still the same idiot, I see,_ Fushimi taunts, but his heart clenches inside his chest with an almost masochistic twinge of pain. He knows that the organ in his upper torso isn’t actually responsible for this disgusting feeling, it’s his brain, and he hates that he can’t control it. Yata still answers him, still comes when he calls like a loyal dog. And yet, Yata didn’t come for him when it mattered the most, when Fushimi had called out uselessly for his idiot to pay attention to him, to listen to him, to hear his calls consumed with desperation. That’s the reason why he left in the first place, not that Yata realizes. It hurts.

_You’re just another Blue now, huh,_ Misaki barks, venomous. _You fucking traitor._

He doesn’t want it to be HOMRA that captivates Yata’s attention, he wants it to be him, only him. The jealousy burns terribly across the berth of his body, it’s too close to what HOMRA had felt like, too close.

_That’s right, Misaki, I’m the traitor who betrayed your precious HOMRA._ Fushimi welcomes the descriptions of traitor and betrayal to his arms now, coaxing Yata in the least subtle way possible to throw the insults at him as if they were Fushimi’s own clandestine knives. He wants the hatred in Yata to grow until it overwhelms him, overthrows him, knocks some sense into his thick skull. The sacred place of love in Yata’s heart is reserved solely for HOMRA; it’s a world that Fushimi no longer wants a part of. _What are you going to do about it?_

Yata’s expression is mired with hurt and desperation, and Fushimi drinks it all in, his thirst for such vivid emotions needing to be quenched. This is what he wanted, this full-fledged disdain and utter disgust. The other’s eyebrows knit downward, almost as if he’s thinking, and Fushimi laughs, what a rare occasion this is. _I’m going to kill you._

_Just try._

_  
_

V.

_Hey Misaki,_ he says.

_Stop calling me that,_ Yata retorts. _What is it?_

_Are you happy?_   It’s a stupid question, as they lay together on a mattress probably older than they are. It reminds Fushimi of that time so long ago when they had been fourteen, when they were living alone together, when they thought they could take over the world, when they thought that they accomplish incredible things, before they had joined HOMRA -- the time when he had perhaps last expressed such genuine sentiments for the other man. Fushimi has always hated such things, but then again, he has always hated everything. He is able to feel Yata shift underneath his askew arm, never able to sit still, and he tightens his grip around his waist in a poor attempt to keep him immobile.

_Of course I am, Saru,_ Yata says through a large yawn, blinking sleepily at him through half-lidded eyes. He’s clearly falling asleep, barely awake, and Fushimi doesn’t even know what he’s trying to accomplish. _What kinda question is that?_

Fushimi settles his cheek on Yata’s chest. _A stupid one._

  


**Author's Note:**

> first time technically writing for k project yay
> 
> sarumi will be the death of me. but fushimi saruhiko in particular. shudders
> 
> this was short and bittersweet (wow what a surprisingly nice ending) but hey hopefully i'll be posting more soon
> 
> please leave some kudos and comments if you enjoyed!!


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